


Well, That's One Way to Boost Morale

by naegiriko



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naegiriko/pseuds/naegiriko
Summary: Or, the Courier fucks every Misfit into cooperation.





	1. Intro

Even just by looking at the Misfits, the Courier knew they wouldn’t get along. Each one stood differently, leaned differently, had a different accent than the rest. And once she had heard their stories, it was clear that their unreadiness was due to the sharp divide in the personality of their squad. Too bad the NCR didn’t use personality tests to pair up a unit. The Courier had always felt herself to be more perceptive than the rest, especially when it came to people, and so she took it upon herself to repair the mismatched, Misfit squad. In the Old World, maybe she would’ve been a therapist or an HR specialist, but in the Mojave Wasteland, she took her codependent blessings where she could get them.

O’Hanrahan was the first squadmate she met. Soft, copper hair, broad shouldered, and a foot taller than he ought to be. He greeted her with a kind voice, the most tender she had encountered in the Mojave, and his story was a sweet one, just his parents and several sisters on an idyllic California farm. He was a big man with large hands and lots of extra muscle packed on him; she thought of what a loss it must have been for his parents to lose his labor. His idea to repair the Misfits was “some human niceness,” and the Courier silently applauded his ability to remain so untouched and naive, but she questioned the effectiveness of basic human decency in the Wastes.

Razz followed suit; she found him out by the lake with a pack of smokes, all hand rolled. Though he was wearing a face wrap, the Courier could see he had dashing black eyes and a laser sharp glare. His hair was buzzed short and adorned with limp spikes the color of raspberries, though neither Razz nor the Courier knew what they were. He had grown up in Boneyard, and that was really all he had to say, for she could only imagine the harsh upbringing in that skeleton of a city, with metal carcasses wilting under hot sun and gangs ruling the streets with an iron fist. She got an even clearer picture when he said chems were the answer to their readiness, and recognized that she had got him at a good time, sober and hard-faced instead of flooded with Psycho and irrationality.

Poindexter and his ilk were common in the NCR. Uppity, barely educated men who thought the world was their playground just because they had access to a couple holotapes in their youth. He fancied himself a genius, and the Courier wished he was for the sake of ease. He was made up, his hair black and shiny under the desert sun, slicked up with agave nectar or Bighorner grease. His silver glasses sat low on his pointed nose, reflecting the light from their constant polishing. The most promising things about Poindexter were his hands, with long fingers and cut nails that looked like they could be a sniper’s with the right expertise. His solution was cheating on their exam; hacking into a government terminal and editing their scores. The Courier wasn’t about to get the bunch killed, so she walked away.

Mags was the final Misfit she met, and their leader. Razz had told the Courier Mags was “meant for something other than soldiering,” and at first glance, he wasn’t wrong. But the second she opened her mouth, it was clear she was worth more than that. Even under thick leather armor, you could see how shapely she was, and you could tell from the way she carried herself she was ashamed. Her blonde hair curled handsomely at her ears, doing little to hide her soft features, alert blue eyes, button nose, full pink lips. Mags wore no makeup at all, but there was a blush of pink on her cheeks from exertion and her lips were red from lack of water. When she told the Courier she was from New Reno, she wondered if she hadn’t joined up in part to escape from “something other than soldiering.” She was by far the most driven, focused, and competent member of the group, and the Courier could tell she was a little like herself, the best at her job and at picking up other people’s messes. She wanted extra instruction at the shooting range, but the Courier favored energy weapons, and the NCR only extended those to heavy troopers. 

It was early evening by the time the Courier had made her rounds around Camp Golf, introducing herself to each Misfit. The mountains took on a purple tint as the sun moved farther down the horizon, the lake growing cool and dark in between. The other soldiers, low-ranking and disposable, were mulling about outside, enjoying the time of day when the desert gave in and ceased its beating heat. While the sun fell, something inside the Courier was rising, her temperature maybe, but her blood was rushing faster and she was excited, like she was on the precipice of something very thrilling. 

Maybe O’Hanrahan had started on the right path; after all, he was the only squadmate who spoke of personality at all. But it wasn’t decency, or “niceness,” as he put it, that they needed. It was something much less complicated, more primal than that. In some ways, more human. No, it had seemed to her like none of them had gotten laid in a very long time. O’Hanrahan and his huge body must have some high upkeep requirements, she thought, and Razz’s shaking hands could use somewhere warm to be, to make sobering up easier. His sexual innuendo about Mags had not gone unnoticed, and maybe he saw something in her that needed to be satisfied. Poindexter was the most obvious. A rigid, elitist personality like that just required a good old fashioned fucking.

So the Courier set off to the Misfits’ tent, high-minded, horny, and with a goal. Fuck the crazies out of each squadmate, and send them into combat sated, with high spirits and keen focus.


	2. O'Hanrahan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the farm boy lovin' we all want and need <3 is my sexual frustration too palpable? i haven't seen my bf in three months. that's your explanation for this horny mess. please enjoy:)

The Courier flipped the worn canvas sheet and ducked into the Misfits’ tent, where she knew O’Hanrahan would be. He was sociable, but seemed a little shy, and she wondered if by staying inside he was trying to hide from the proclivities of the soldiers outside: smoking, drinking, and boasting of their sexual conquests. His tall frame was scrunched into a childlike position as he pored over a copy of Lad’s Life. Once he recognized the Courier, he broke into a wide grin.

“Howdy! You talk to the others about some gettin’ some basic human niceness into their system?”

“My method isn’t exactly like yours, but I think it’ll get some results,” she began. “I think you’re onto something, though. It’s a problem to be solved with words, and a little something else.” She walked a couple steps closer until O’Hanrahan was beaming up at her, still folded up on the cot.

“Ma’am? And what’s that?” He had a puzzled expression on his face, eyes anywhere but the Courier’s breasts which were all but hanging in his face.

“I’m going to show them some kindness, and it’ll be so good I think they’ll listen to what you have to say. You know, stabilize everyone’s mood a bit.”

“Hmm,” O’Hanrahan said blankly, and the Courier could see the wheels in his thick head turning.

“I’m going to let your squad fuck me, O’Hanrahan,” she said directly. “But since you had all the brilliant ideas, you get to have me first.”

Just the word made him turn red, the color spreading across his cheeks like wildfire. He put down the slender magazine in his hands and mumbled. 

“Ma’am—I don’t—I mean—I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve somethin’ like that. It ain’t right for me to take advantage of you like that, with me bein’ so big and all, I couldn’t—“ 

The Courier put a finger to his lips.

“I’m giving myself to you. A gift. You just have to abide by human decency and trust your squadmates. I know you will. It was your idea.” 

She lifted her undershirt off her shoulders, and O’Hanrahan watched mesmerized as her full tits bounced free of their confines. 

“You’re sure?” He asked once more.

“Absolutely,” she affirmed, and with that there was no hesitation. He pulled her into his lap like she weighed nothing, and the Courier quickly found herself breathless as his large hands enclosed her breasts, squeezing them tight and holding her close to him.

“Golly, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” O’Hanrahan mused before placing his head between her tits. She ran her fingers through his fine copper hair as he played with them, shaking his head and sucking on each nipple until it came away red and wet. 

“How long has it been?” The Courier asked.

“Not since California, no ma’am,” he said, panting. “There ain’t any pretty girls around here, ‘cept you now. Back home there was always girls comin’ around the farm, now I hardly see ‘em.”

The Courier imagined O’Hanrahan on his family land, acres of sun and wheat for harvest. His broad frame engulfing a petite farm girl, her dress pink and flowered, rucked up around her waist so he could pound into her. Her arousal grew. 

His attention was traveling down her body now, he had kissed her sternum and belly and navel but he kept following south, like winter was coming. O’Hanrahan, struggling with her belt, gazed up at her and asked so sweetly: 

“I can lick you first, right?”

She answered with a flurry of nods. He buried his face into her still clothed mound before yanking her pants off, belt included. 

“Oh Lord, you look so delicious,” O’Hanrahan marveled. If it had been anyone else, she would’ve scoffed, but it was hard when he was looking at her with such admiration, staring at the wet spot on the front of her old panties like it was liquid gold. 

O'Hanrahan’s tongue was on her instantly, like he couldn’t possibly wait for the panties to come off. He mouthed at the outline of her vulva, dampening the rest of the cloth. His hot breath was dizzying, but the Courier was waiting till she could feel his wet tongue on her clit. She had attempted to be a vessel for these encounters, but she couldn’t help enjoying herself. She felt extraordinarily comfortable at the mercy of O’Hanrahan and his massive body, the honest work he put in to every touch on her skin. 

O’Hanrahan slid the soaked panties off her quite gingerly for a man on a mission, but it didn’t take him long to get back on track. He buried himself between her legs devotedly, and the Courier felt a frenzy of wetness, her slick and his warm tongue. Her clit felt hard and swollen underneath it, and she knew that an orgasm was in the cards if he kept up his pace, licking at her almost furiously. His eyes were closed and he looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself, she could feel the vibrations from his moans.

“Tastes like heaven,” he murmured to himself. The Courier could see him pawing at the front of his pants, failing to find room for his erection. The thought of what was to follow just made her unravel even more; she pulsed against his tongue and squirmed impatiently.

“Pa told me once, what a woman gives you in bed is a gift, so you have to let her go first.” 

“Bet him and your mom had a great relationship,” the Courier managed with labored breath. 

As charming as it was to glean more bits of his backstory, the Courier could feel herself getting closer, closer, closer, and O’Hanrahan was getting sloppier and more frustrated. She liked that his focus was weakening. She thought about breaking his control, the sweet farm boy halo around his head, his desire for her so palpable he had to mount her like an animal and forgo his principles. 

“You about ready, darlin’?” He looked up at her with hooded brown eyes, ruffled hair, slick covering his chin.

It just took his voice and she was screaming, her pussy clenching on his tongue, her searching hands pulling at his russet hair. The Courier moved his head up and down with every forceful push of her orgasm, riding it out on his face, and she could tell he was trying not to smile.

The Courier was splayed out on the bed like a ragdoll, strewn about from her orgasm, watching as O’Hanrahan hurried through undressing. His hands trembled as he undid the buttons on his outer layer, stiff tan cloth meeting her fatigues on the floor. For a moment she imagined herself in his position--the pleasure of shedding armor after a day in the desert, a hard cock to use, somewhere warm and wet to stick it. 

Underneath his trooper armor O’Hanrahan was a wall of muscle. He wasn’t chiseled, there were no divots in his abdomen or shoulders, instead there was soft skin packed over the toned muscle underneath. He had a handsome trail of red hair leading down the great expanse of his stomach. And just as she had expected, he held his cock in his hands, thick and long. It hung there with a great amount of promise; and suddenly her waiting seemed worthwhile, now that she was going to get her fill. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, more grave than before. Even still, the tip of his cock prodded against her opening, begging for entry. 

“You won’t.” The Courier’s eyes bore into his, and she watched his reaction, open-mouthed and boyish, as she moved herself down onto his length.

“Lord forgive me,” he breathed shakily, “You feel so damn good.” 

She wrapped her arms around his burly shoulders, enjoyed the way his chest heaved as he tried to control the movement of his hips. His warmth on top of her was suffocating, the pressure of his large body overwhelming, adding to the haze of her pleasure as his cock explored her.

“You--you feel so tight,” O’Hanrahan mumbled, still fucking her slowly and unhurried. 

The Courier was getting restless for more, suspicious that this simple farm boy had mind games to play, teasing her with his big cock and reducing her to beggar status. 

“Can you go faster?” She pleaded as nobly as she could, throbbing for him. 

“Yes ma’am,” O’Hanrahan grinned, all too willing. He thrust firmly inside her, jostling her breasts as she arched her back helplessly. The Courier cried out, his quickened pace unrelenting in the most sensitive place inside her. 

O’Hanrahan had a strong hold on her body without meaning to, his huge left hand enclosing her breast, the right on her hip, tight enough to leave a mark. His normally tender eyes were squeezed shut as he pounded into her, and a strand of sweaty hair swung at the middle of his forehead, bouncing comically with them on the narrow cot. 

Maybe it had been too long for her as well, but the Courier felt that his cock was enormous inside her, his girth forcing her muscles to clamp down on him in a way that heightened his every movement. With his heavy body around her on all sides and his cock filling her completely, there was enough of O’Hanrahan to drown in, and she found it difficult for her mind to wander.

“Do I feel good?” he asked. 

The Courier pulled his face to hers and he struggled to keep up with the kiss she had given him, wet and open-mouthed. 

“Yes, O’Hanrahan,” she breathed, “yes, God.”

She had spurred him on then, with just a little validation. He was getting shaky and erratic above her, his breath heavier. The Courier could feel his cock forcing deeper inside her with every thrust; his body was ready to come even if he wasn’t. 

“Are you going to come, O’Hanrahan?” Her gaze was steely and determined in the dim tent light. 

“Don’t say that,” he whined, “You’ll make me finish inside you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” The Courier challenged. 

“You won’t get pregnant?” His eyes widened.

“Birth control. New Vegas Medical Clinic. You don’t have it back home?”

“No ma’am, does that mean I get to do it inside?” O’Hanrahan asked incredulously.

She could feel his release moving closer and closer with the idea. 

“I want you to,” she cooed. “I want you to come inside my pussy, as deep as you can.”

“Oh, I--” 

He gripped her hard, harder than before, his knuckles turning white as he fucked into her. She regarded him with pleasure as she watched his orgasm unfold, the stuttering hips, the open mouth, the final shout. O’Hanrahan’s cock pulsed inside her for what seemed like forever, filling her with his seed. 

When he was done, he reached underneath her shoulders to pull her closer, held her tight for a moment, out of exhaustion or affection.

“Did you like it?” O’Hanrahan smiled broadly. 

“I loved it. You’re such a kind man.” She kissed his cheek.

The Courier was tired, though; her legs weak, pussy sore, there were marks on her body from where he had squeezed her. She felt purposeful, elevated, that she had done what she set out to do. Still, there was a lot of work left, and for a moment she doubted it would be as enjoyable as her business with O’Hanrahan. 

“Will you keep being good for me?” She asked with mock sternness, exposing herself to him as she leaned to pick up clothing. 

“Yes, ma’am! Thank you so much again. I didn’t deserve it.”

“Of course you did. I’ll be around, O’Hanrahan.”

The Courier waved and slipped out of the tent. Night had already fallen over the camp, less soldiers were mulling about, just the ones with keen eyes and hard faces that were on patrol. She glanced over the lake, pausing to watch moonlight ripple across its black sheets of water, and then stole away into the resort for a cot to sleep on. She needed the rest--and the Misfits needed much more help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm soooo pumped for razz's chapter...coming soon!


	3. Razz

The sun rose more quickly than the Courier had anticipated, chasing her shut eyes through dilapidated windows that did nothing against harsh beams of light. She found immediately that her inner thighs felt tight and sore, and O’Hanrahan’s come from the night before had leaked into her panties. 

The Courier flopped back onto the limp bedroll and let the weight of the day set in. First of all, there was the matter of cleaning herself up. Secondly, there were tasks to be done—she had promised a pretty, fire-haired Tech Sergeant at Camp Forlorn Hope that she would change the radio codes of every ranger station in the Mojave. It was hard to say no, and she figured that with all the marching she did, she could just stop by on the way of other contracts. Thirdly, burning hottest in her mind, were the Misfits. She could tell she had made an impact on O’Hanrahan the night before, although he wasn’t her major concern. For all his inexperience and simplicity, he had come up with a wonderful idea to help his squadmates excel. Of course, the Courier was modifying it so that she may help them physically, too.

Today, she had her sights set on Razz. Though she had some loose ends to tie up between that time, a familiar rush of hormones infiltrated her body thinking of her goals with the hostile trooper. It wasn’t like the warm, preemptive delight of bedding O’Hanrahan. Instead, it felt like a cluster of lighting in her heart and between her legs, there was a pure thrill of not knowing what his uncovered face looked like and not knowing what he would do to her. 

The Courier didn’t reach into her satchel for tobacco that morning; nor did she brew fresh coffee before leaving the resort. Her excitement fueled her onward, out into the Mojave, to its most dangerous corners.

It was well past nightfall when the Courier returned to Camp Golf. The day’s proclivities had sucked up more time than she desired, and she had hoped Razz might be one of the troopers on watch. It was a rather selfish thought to wish the red-eye shift into someone, but she considered his pending pay-off to be quite great. 

His form was a black shroud, perched on a lookout post, hardly discernible from the lake in front of him. She could tell it was Razz from the faint pillar of light illuminating his berry color hair, which shot up in spikes more menacingly than the first day they had met.

She walked up the ladder to the rickety structure, feeling as loud as an ox, but Razz never swiveled around. 

“You didn’t hear me coming up?” She asked.

“I’m not fucking deaf,” he pointed out, unmoving. “Thought you were about to break the step.” 

“That a fat joke?” The Courier approached on his left, showing quite a bit to her: the black silhouette of the mountains, a lit cigarette smoked nearly down to the filter, burning orange, and the subsequent warm glow it gave Razz’s face in the nighttime. 

“So what if it was? Fat girls are a fucking treasure out here, man. Rolls and rolls to grab on, an ass to smother you, enough tit to drown you. Not one of those skinny Fiend bitches outside the Strip, covered in scars and so weak they can hardly pick up a needle.”

He had enough decency to finally turn and face her, and she could tell from the moon and cigarette light why he always wore the face wrap: a jagged scar that tore through the corner of his lip and reached to his chin.

“Why you are up here, mailman? I don’t see you packing any chems, so you’re definitely not back to help the Misfits.”

“You’re stupid if you think chems are going to help you in the NCR. Even if they get you through the readiness evaluation, the withdrawals are bad enough to get you killed in combat. You think I haven’t seen you shaking already?”

“Pssh. That’s what I have smokes for. Calms my nerves. Whatever the others told you will work, it won’t. They’re a bunch of pussies. Have you met O’Hanrahan? We couldn’t last a day out there against the Legion.”

The Courier chuckled.

“You’re making a mistake doubting O’Hanrahan. That boy is massive, and I guarantee he’d risk his own life to keep your ungrateful ass safe.” She rolled around the words on her tongue a little bit before she said them, thrilled by what the response might be. “And he has a bigger cock than you.”

“Just because he’s tall doesn’t mean he—you didn’t fuck him did you?”

“Of course I did,” she replied in a ditzy tone. “Gotta get that ‘human niceness’ into everyone’s system somehow.” 

He was silent, his cigarette going out. The Courier couldn’t see his hands, but silently hoped they were shaky. 

“Why? Did you want to have me first?” She taunted. 

“You stupid bitch,” he snarled at her, pushing up against her body, hard enough to threaten a sandbag into tumbling off the wooden post. “What makes you think I want you?”

“Maybe because I can tell a dry spell when I see one. And there sure as hell aren’t any other women in camp that would dare fuck you.” A smile curled on her lips. “Go ahead, Razz. Take it out on me.”

The Courier braced herself for a barrage of physical contact that never came. Instead, Razz’s eyes bore into her, narrow, discerning. 

“Here,” he pointed, and she obliged, moving to the front of the post as if she was on lookout herself. “Now on your knees.”

Her cheeks burned, but she did as he asked, the thin cloth of her cargo pants doing little to alleviate the discomfort of the wooden planks underneath. She opened her mouth to speak, but he dismissed her by putting his thumb in between her lips. The digit tasted like fresh tobacco leaf and gunmetal.

“I don’t want to hear you talk. Just suck.” 

She couldn’t see much, but she could hear his fly unzipping, hear his frustrated breath as he poked his cock through so she could take it in her mouth. She could feel the weight of it on her cheek, half-hard and handsomely curved.

Razz did her the favor of guiding it into her mouth in the dark, likely because it wasn’t yet hard enough for him to shove it in. The Courier had always begun sucking a cock when it was at full mast, aching and begging for release, but the lack of foreplay between her and Razz rendered it merely half erect. This time, though, she saw it as a chance to get some work done. She only suckled at the tip first, pulling back his foreskin and running her tongue over the slit. She was careful not to swallow, gathering saliva in her mouth to make the process easier, especially when she was certain he was going to fuck her mouth later.

He was hard in only a few moments, and she relished the dull ache in her jaw and the hot, musky feeling on her tongue. It had been a good, long while since the Courier had been on her knees for a man--after Benny in Goodsprings, it seemed like a sick perversion of the worst night of her life.

The Courier was glad that Razz wasn’t wearing the face wrap. Now, she could see how handsome his jawline was, illuminated by a lithe swatch of moonlight, bowing behind his ear. Even his scar shone white and knightly, but she was most happy that she could hear the inklings of his moans and little huffs as she worked his cock in her mouth, sucking farther down his shaft in rationed movements. 

Razz’s cock twitched once he saw the glistening rope of spit from her mouth, he knew it was the good stuff, deep in the back of her throat, and it made him want to withdraw his cock again and again, to watch the web of saliva, to stick it back in again and feel the tight ring of lips around his head anew. 

The thought triggered his sexual ferocity and he held the Courier by her hair, angled his cock so it would pry her mouth open, and picked up his pace. He thrusted in and out vigorously, not fucking her mouth quite yet, but working up to it. Testing the waters of her skill, gauging how good it would feel to lose control and buck into her mouth, seeing how long she could go without gagging.

And the Courier didn’t gag, at least, he couldn’t hear her, so he gave her everything he had, pumped his hips in and out of her mouth with fury. She could hear him whine above her, and it was a glorious sound that made her lower muscles clench for any kind of pressure, but she knew to wait until he was sated in this way. The Courier was struggling to hold on, though, and after a decent amount of time, she gagged, forcing his wet cock out of her throat.

“Stand up,” Razz commanded in a gravelly voice, softer than he wanted it to be. The Courier cursed herself too, for the way her knees popped as she stood. 

They stood chest to chest for a moment, sizing each other up in the dark. The Courier wished she could peel back all the layers of his armor, stare at his body underneath, count all the scars and guess their origins. Razz, too, wanted the same luxury--fuck guard duty, he thought, I want to make her scream and see her cheeks hollow as she’s blowing me, want to see how open her pussy’s gonna look after I’m done with it. 

The two allowed each other a fervent kiss before getting back to it. The Courier grabbed his waist as tight as she could, trying to feel anything underneath, but she only understood the slightness of his body, the suggestion of its thinness underneath. Razz squeezed her nipples painfully tight, her squeal made him want to laugh, made him want to pinch her in other places. He left a hurricane of bites on her shoulders, wet bites, that made her go slack against him, leaning on his narrow shoulders for balance. 

“Bend over,” Razz whispered into her ear, and the Courier felt the kind of shiver that buzzes down just one side of your body, the half where your excitement lies, the origin of your arousal, usually someone’s voice, explicit in their want of you.

She did as he asked, bending slightly over the wood post, feeling his hard cock against her clothed ass. Part of her wanted him to rip her pants open even though she knew it was impossible to do. Instead, Razz tugged them down her taut thighs unceremoniously, and not just her pussy was exposed, but the backs of her legs too. She could feel the cool desert wind on the lower half of her body, so rarely naked in this circumstance. She throbbed, counting down the microscopic moments until Razz would touch her. 

He spread her pussy open and stuck a finger experimentally inside first, trying to get a feel for how wet she was, and subsequently how simple it would be to penetrate her. She keened, shaking like a leaf as he curled a finger inside, and he decided he ought not to waste any more time.

The Courier felt the tip enter her and her muscles adjust rapidly, but somehow she felt Razz was going too slow. She had wanted him to push inside her in one harsh, jagged movement, like his personality suggested. Instead, he slid it inside readily, giving her just enough time to adjust.

With her legs closed, the Courier could feel the pressure of his cock much deeper than normal, the pleasure less topical than in other encounters. It didn’t take him long to work up to the rough and ready pace she expected of him, he pistoned in and out, working himself into a frenzy, nearly slipping out of her on the upstroke. Her clit had had no prior attention, yet she could feel the exposed organ pulsing, begging for an orgasm. It seemed that the more harshly he fucked her, the closer she felt to unraveling, to reaching a break in her mind where she wanted to thrash and cry out. 

Razz bent at the knees, causing his hips to angle upwards, and the Courier shrieked against her will, pushing her ass back against his cock in demand for more. Panic shot through him, he didn’t want to stir the camp, especially not his CO. He clamped his hand tight around her mouth, hoping she would forgive him later, and crashed into her harder. 

She flailed against him, his sudden contact and lack of oxygen shocking. She knew that she had to be quiet, but she trusted Razz above herself in this moment where she felt entirely out of control of her body.

The Courier’s potent enjoyment and the exhausting pace of his thrusts was dizzying Razz, making him feel like he was losing his grip on the situation too, his vision tunneling as he looked at the full moon of the Courier’s ass bouncing back and forth on him. In a moment of weakness, he crossed over the threshold of orgasm, his hips slamming into the Courier relentlessly. He could feel the vibrations of her scream underneath his hand, the rapid, vice-like waves of pressure that her pussy was inflicting on his weary cock, and knew he had done right by her. 

He slipped out of her, softening immediately, come dripping onto the post and the Courier’s now spread legs. They could hear each other panting like dogs in the night. Each adjusted their own clothing, straightening what had been made askew. Once she had pulled up her pants, the Courier dwindled for a moment like she was about to speak, but her mouth stayed a hard line.

“I’m going to be put out on BCD if anyone catches you here,” Razz said plainly. It seemed a useless addendum to the risky fuck they had just gotten away with. 

“I know,” she murmured, and Razz swore he could detect her legs still trembling. “Thanks, Razz.” 

The Courier stole away, and when she was out of Razz’s sight line, she took off running into the dark, along the lakeside where the water was still black in the early hours of the morning, where she could feel the coolness of the water rising up against her thinly clothed body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CO - commanding officer  
BCD - bad conduct discharge
> 
> tell me what you thought!! i was more pleased with this than the o'hanrahan chapter...maybe that's a good sign going forward??


	4. Poindexter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY this has taken so long! if you read the other chapters first in august, thanks for staying interested! I hope you enjoy the comeback chapter :) feel free to theorize about sexiness in the final chapter in the comments - i might include it!

The next day started off in an impatient tone as the Courier scoured Camp Golf looking for Poindexter. She kept looking for hair that looked like it had been rinsed in ink, knowing the gel would be reflective in the broad light of day. Instead, she just found a tangle of G.I. Joes with tired eyes and limp brown hair. 

The Courier had resigned to House Resort and nearly deemed Poindexter too much trouble than he was worth when she heard a familiar voice from across the lobby. She stalked down the narrow hallway behind the visitor’s desk, peeking into each room, before finding Poindexter chatting loudly with an NCR ranger.

She cringed immediately. First of all, he was just a trooper, and he belonged outside. Unfair as it seemed, the NCR’s setup at Golf made decent enough sense: keep the highly skilled Rangers comfortable so that they will serve you well. After all, troopers were a statistic in the eyes of the brass. Secondly, she could tell he had gotten this far inside by completely inane, obnoxious ass kissing. The Courier leaned in the hallway, listening to Poindexter explain to the armored ranger just how well-equipped he was to handle the basic administrative task he had been given. 

On her way out of the door, the ranger gave her a clap on the shoulder and said, “Thanks for your help, civilian. We owe you.” She trotted away, certainly off to better things, now that her tedious terminal entry job was saddled with Poindexter. 

He attempted to hide his excitement at seeing the Courier by clearing his throat and introducing a less than interesting topic. 

“I’m the only one of my squad who has put a foot forward in solving the issue of our readiness,” Poindexter reported to her, sounding pleased.

The Courier crossed her arms and looked him over. At first glance he was embarrassing to even look at, then this emotion blurred over into pity before human aspects finally came into view. The Courier saw his insecurity, and it charmed her. She was always one for the underdog, and Poindexter was the picture of it: skinny as a tree limb underneath his fatigues, eyes flitting to and fro, beady eyes underneath his glasses.

In fact, Poindexter might’ve been the Misfit to benefit the most from the Courier’s “human niceness.” She couldn’t think of anyone else but herself who would take on the task, and certainly not with as much relish. Yes, she was going to make Poindexter stop running his mouth, rendering him incapable of articulating anything but base pleasure. At the auditory premonition of Poindexter’s moans and whines, the Courier grinned. 

“Pretty impressive you were allowed back here in the first place. How did the CO’s cock taste?” She mocked. 

He ignored her, rolling brown eyes and continuing to boast. 

“Very funny. Anyway, there’s only one step left to improving the Misfits. If we simply acquire the password to the terminal, command will cease bothering us immediately.”

“And after that? Hacking this terminal will suddenly improve your aim, your tactics, and increase your muscle mass? You’re as stupid as Razz.” She began stoking the fire.

“Comparing me to Razz is a gross underestimation of my intelligence. He made no proactive attempt to remedy our quandary, and here I am! Besides, he is incapable of forming coherent thought. Drug-addled mind, you know.”

The Courier wanted to laugh, but instead held her breath. 

“Here, let me look at the terminal,” she offered. As she squeezed behind Poindexter’s office chair, she noticed a long piece of defunct rubber wiring on the floor. A fruitful new plan sprung into her mind.

“I’ll just isolate the function here…and shift the code at this line…there we go.” She said without fanfare. Poindexter was incredulous. 

“There’s no way! You must’ve already known the passkey!” 

As he marveled at the terminal, trying to trace back her steps, the Courier put her spontaneous plan into motion. She grabbed Poindexter’s wrists tightly together and fastened the cord around them in a sturdy knot. It happened too fast for him to react; her knot-tying skills had greatly improved from rock climbing to various vantage points around the Mojave. 

Poindexter sputtered nonsense. The Courier felt a split second of guilt, but his impending reward would make up for the brief panic Poindexter was currently enduring.

“I’m not letting you alter the Misfit’s readiness evals,” the Courier began. She shimmied off her jacket and discarded it. 

“Oh please, please don’t report me! I don’t want to end up in an NCR prison! You think I could survive with those brigands? They’d place me in the correctional facility without trial!”

“Don’t worry, Dexter. I’m going with O’Hanrahan’s method.” She rolled up her sleeves, and he looked nearly brought to tears.

“What about this is anything like that naïve Bible thumper’s optimistic approach?! You have a flawed definition of kindness!” He pulled frantically at the cord.

“Nope. I just have a little different interpretation, that’s all. I think you’ll find it more enjoyable than the standard definition.” 

The Courier locked the door to the office and started on the buttons of her flannel work shirt. Poindexter paid grave attention to every button in aroused confusion. Finally, her breasts were on display, dangling invitingly from her chest. Her nipples hardened in the stale air, and she couldn’t help but fondle them herself. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make you feel good. You’re going to come. I want to make you feel better about life and about yourself, so that you’ll realize what a little prick you’ve been acting like and change your ways. If you’re a good boy, I’ll even untie you. I’m also preventing you from being ass-raped and killed by Legion boys. I would call that ‘human niceness.’”

She had done it already. Poindexter was speechless. His eyes, already glazed over with arousal, looked dumbly up at her as she stroked the inside of his thigh. 

“Does that sound like a plan?” 

He nodded, eyes fixed on her nipples. 

“Are you a virgin, Poindexter?” 

He was sputtering again. “No, of course not. How could an individual get to the age of twenty-four without—“ 

The Courier affixed a glowering, motherly eye on him. 

“Don’t lie to me,” she warned.

“Yes. I’ve never had sex before.” He blushed pink and a soft, almost guilty expression overtook his normally mouse-like features, like he had somehow disappointed her.

The Courier stooped down to whisper in his ear. “That’s okay. I’m going to take care of it, alright? So you’ll know exactly what to do next time.”

She kissed down from his earlobe, her lips gracing the most sensitive part of his neck. The Courier could hear his ragged breathing; saw his head tip back to give her access. She obliged and unbuttoned his uniform, sucking at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“We’re going to do this here?” He murmured.

“The door’s locked, and the NCR loves me,” was her only reply.

“This is a trick, isn’t it? Did Razz put you up to this? You don’t really want to--” 

His voice caught in his throat as the Courier’s hands found the front of his pants. She pawed at his half-hard cock through the tough cloth before working on the buttons of his fly. It was finally happening - a girl wanted to touch him there. Even if the circumstances weren’t ideal, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t ever looked at the Courier before. From her first appearance at Camp Golf, he had kept an interested eye on her. 

“Fuck,” the Courier hissed as Poindexter’s hard cock sprung out in front of her. It was different from O’Hanrahan’s, less girthy, but still just as promising. It was a different sort of thrill than her meeting with Razz up at the guard tower - instead of the filthy romp of gargling his cock in public, she had Poindexter locked away like a princess in a tower, his cock to play with as she pleased. 

“It’s already so hard and I haven’t even sucked it yet,” she smiled, crouching to her knees on the floor. She could see his nervousness. He started to tug on the cord again, trying to gain some kind of control over the situation. 

“Do you really plan on letting me go? How can I be sure you won’t just leave me here with my dick ou--oh, fuck, that’s good.” 

The Courier licked experimentally at it, gauging his reaction. She wanted to tease him, draw it out. He was a virgin, but she wasn’t quite sure how virginal he really was. Being sensitive was one thing, coming at the first moment of pleasure was another, and if she could guess anything about Poindexter’s control, it might well have been the latter. She wanted him to fully appreciate the gift, not to blow it ahead of schedule. 

“I know it’s good, sweetheart,” the Courier cooed. “I’m going to take real good care of you now, alright? Do you want that?”

He nodded rapidly, his body breaking out into a shiver as she swiped her tongue over the head of his engorged cock. 

“Y-you’re being so nice to me,” Poindexter stuttered incredulously. 

“Would you rather me be mean?” The Courier whispered firmly in his ear, her hand tight on his scalp, pulling gently on his hair. 

“N-no, it feels good like this,” he assured her. A pink bloom had spread across his cheeks, his body heat was tangible, his chest was heaving. It was a charming sight - a true testament to the Courier’s power over the male body. 

As she had expected, he was very hard to keep quiet. She worried that a Ranger might come in to scold them. Still desperate for his sounds, the Courier stood above him and guided his face closer to her while she jerked him off. She felt wetness accumulating between her legs, leading her to add a phase of the plan she was not intending. 

The Courier slipped over her pants and undies until she stood completely bare in an office at House Resort. Once again, the semi-public element of sex intrigued her endlessly - on the brink of being shameless and secretive, a compelling link between her private sexual life and the social world outside. 

The Courier slipped a hand between her legs to feel how slick she was before moving to straddle Poindexter. He looked up at her with large, vulnerable eyes as she held the base of his cock to guide him in. She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair as she sunk down onto him. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Poindexter exclaimed. “Please, fuck! Ride my cock, please!”

“Is it too much to handle?” She grinned. The Courier started to bounce up and down on it, hoping the creaking, 200 year old office chair wouldn’t alert any nearby NCR Rangers to their escapade. 

“Almost,” he admitted. He was sweating as he resisted coming in her, with his shirt and pants still on. 

“Don’t give up on me yet, big boy,” the Courier said. “You need to let me have some ‘human niceness’ too.” 

“How can I do that?” 

“Let me ride your cock ‘til I come,” she said, breathless. She started to move faster, holding tightly to Poindexter for leverage. She noticed how comfortable it felt to just wrap her arms around his narrow torso, to feel him against her as she crashed into him, how it melted away her contempt like butter. O’Hanrahan might’ve been lacking in the IQ department, but by EQ standards, he was a genius. The Mojave really did just need some basic human niceness. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Poindexter whined, clenching his teeth. His hips had been bucking up into the Courier of their own accord, desperate to be deeper inside her pussy. 

The Courier ignored his desperation and continued to ride him like a cowgirl, chasing selfishly after her own orgasm. Her body betrayed her altruism - she needed to feel her pussy pulse around Poindexter’s cock, to lose herself in the uncontrollable waves of orgasm. 

The Courier heard a guttural cry from Poindexter, enough to know that he had crossed the point of no return. Suddenly, he broke through her weak knot and grabbed her hips, pounding into her with surprising force. The broken cord tumbled to the floor. She couldn’t help the yelp of shock she made as he seized control of her body, gripping her ass and emptying his cock inside her. The new angle forced his cock deeper inside her, triggering a powerful, internal orgasm for her.

“I’m coming,” the Courier breathed quietly into his ear. Her pleasure hit her like a truck. She shuddered silently on top of him, her pussy contracting tightly around his spent cock. 

They sat there for a moment, somehow not falling off the rickety office chair. At some level, the Courier was embarrassed about how much she had enjoyed her time with Poindexter, and that she had not put him in his place like she had intended. But as she looked at him post-orgasm - limp black hair, glasses askew, brown eyes dark as night and just as dewy - the Courier regretted nothing. If anything, she had just made Poindexter a little more human. 

“Sorry about tying you up,” the Courier said as she pulled on her pants. 

“Can’t really complain about that anymore, can I?” Poindexter asked with a smug grin painted on his lips. “But, uh, thank you for dissuading me from trying to alter the readiness scores,” he said sheepishly, itching behind his ear. “What I was planning on - well, it might’ve gotten us all killed and put in prison. However, I still believe I am best equipped to solve the problem. After all, I’m the most intelligent Misfit.” 

The Courier chuckled to herself. Human niceness could do a whole lot, but not change someone’s personality after one orgasm. 

She looked over at him, making sure he was fully dressed and at least somewhat composed before she opened the door. Poindexter returned her glance with a newfound gentleness, mouthing a final “thank you” as she slipped out the door.

“Wait a second before you head out, okay?” She winked. 

•

Her rendezvous with Poindexter had left her hungry for a follow-up and eager for her final task - Mags. She hadn’t seen her since the first day she met the Misfits, but she couldn’t wait to see her again. It had been a long, long time since the Courier had been with a woman as beautiful as her. Before she started her next assignment, the Courier made a plan to sneak in a couple orgasms, imagining the blonde, supple-bodied trooper’s moans as she treated her with the attention she deserved.


End file.
